


Player 15

by eden22



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kent "Emotional Wreck" Parson, M/M, Misunderstandings, more like enemies to hot messes to lovers, nhl!Bitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-20 00:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/pseuds/eden22
Summary: A list of things that Kent Parson definitely isn't:1. He definitely isn't worried that the Aces just drafted Eric Bittle because he's a younger, faster version of Kent2. He definitely isn't bitter and jealous that Bittle got Jack and Kent didn't3. He definitely isn't falling for him





	Player 15

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fieldofdiabolicalbutlovelykillers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fieldofdiabolicalbutlovelykillers/gifts).



> See end note for content warnings.
> 
> Helen is an amazing beta and knows so much more about hockey than me. Thank you for making sure I didn't embarrass myself.

“So you’re replacing me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Parson.” Richardson rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt to watch him do it. Kent caught a flash of Abyan moving out of the corner of his eye and turned to catch her smirking at him. Caught, she just smiled wider, tilting her head at him, daring. He narrowed his eyes at her, before turning back to Richardson just in time to catch the older man rubbing at the bridge of his nose, glasses clumsily pushed up his forehead. “Obviously we’re not fucking replacing you,” he said without opening his eyes.

“Yeah? Cuz it kinda feels like you just purchased the shorter, blonder, younger version of me.” The sigh that Richardson let out spoke to years of dealing with hockey players like Kent… or at least years of dealing with Kent himself. ‘You will put me in an early grave,’ that sigh said. ‘You’re dumber than a box of rocks,’ that sigh said. 

‘Fuck off,’ that sigh said. 

“Cuter too,” Abyan put in, and it was Richardson’s turn to glare at his assistant while Kent bit down on a laugh. He had a bad feeling it would have come out more manic than anything anyways, even if it wouldn’t have made Richardson lose his shit at him. Abyan, meanwhile, was no more fazed by her boss than she had been by Kent, looking back at Richardson with one eyebrow raised. 

“We’re not replacing you,” Richardson ground out at last, slowly dragging his head back round to stare at Kent some more. Kent looked back at him flatly, suddenly exhausted. 

“Right,” he said, tonelessly. Richardson frowned, opened his mouth, then shut it. Sighing, he waved his hand towards Kent. 

“I don’t have time to jerk off your fucking ego today Parson. Deal with your shit on your own time.” Kent barely managed to repress a flinch. “We’re not replacing you. You’d fucking know if we were because you’d already be out on your ass on your way to the fucking Bruins or the Schooners. Management made a decision to take a chance on a player with yes, a similar style and build to yours, because they’re fucking idiots who think that the secret to another cup win is hiring another Kent Parson. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a damn good player and that he’ll be a solid addition to this team’s roster.” Richardson regarded Kent for a long moment, eyes hard. “You’re not being replaced Parson, but it’s been four years since your last cup win, so watch the attitude. You aren’t all this team has anymore.” Kent swallowed, feeling himself sway slightly. Still, he nodded as cooly as he was able, managing to turn and leave the office on legs that felt suddenly numb with the anxiety that was rapidly spider-webbing out from his fingertips. 

_Yeah, definitely not replacing me,_ Kent thought bitterly as he left the building, briefly closing his eyes as the dry heat of Vegas swept across his face. Fuckers were buying his replacement before he was even gone. Test driving the new fucking model juuuust in case, before sending the old worn out one to the junkyard. 

He strode across the parking lot, sweat barely managing to begin to drip down his neck before he was sliding into his car. Kent laughed to himself as he settled into the driver’s seat, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. 

_They’re not wrong,_ he thought. Scrap metal. Shards of a person, rusted, scraping along by the grace of God. What a perfect fucking metaphor.

The sports car started with a roar, and he didn’t bother to look before skidding out of the parking lot and onto the busy road, the chorus of horns and shouts a muffled and distant soundtrack as he streaked across the strip towards home.

_/ \\_ 

Kent leaned against the wall, watching the small man in a brand new black jersey whip around the rink, the giant white number ‘15’ on the back blurring with his speed. He was fast, Kent had to admit. Fuck, he might even be faster than Kent himself. Didn’t mean he was a good player though. Hell, being fast was probably the only thing he had going for him – Kent was small but this goddamn kid looked like he’d fall over soon as someone looked at him mean. Would probably fly right out of the fucking rink if he got checked. Kent felt a leaf of small, petty satisfaction unfurl within his chest, and a smile began to creep across his face. Kid would probably-

“You going to play nice?” Kent swung his head around, surprised out of his train of thought to see Abyan stepping up to the boards next to him. 

“I always play nice,” he replied without thinking. Abyan raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

“The fuck you do,” she replied and god, Kent loved her, the bitch. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, ignoring that (frankly, uncalled for) attack on his character. “Shouldn’t you be off fetching coffee for Richardson?” 

“Shove it up your ass Parson,” she replied mildly. “I’m in charge of showing Bittle around.” She nodded towards the other man, and Kent turned back to the ice, his face twisting into something unpleasant as he watched Eric Bittle round the corners of the rink. Fuck. He had half thought management had been fucking with him when they told him they’d signed a contract with Eric Bittle, rookie player from Georgia, recent graduate of Samwell University. 

“You’ll like him Kent,” Chris had said, not even bothering to look up from the stack of paper in his hands as he brushed past the other man. “He’s fast like you.” 

Like Kent didn’t know who he was. Like he hadn’t slightly obsessively stalked his YouTube and twitter after that last flaming car crash of a visit to Jack, god, three years ago now. Like he hadn’t bitten his lip until it bled as he read tweets describing Zimms flirting with the other man, their dates and their relationship. 

Management had no reason to fuck with him though, hell, they wouldn’t even know _why_ hiring Bittle was fucking him up as much as it was. And it was, even if Kent hated to admit it. But Jack Zimmermann was a splinter that had never managed to work its way out of his heart, a festering wound that had never healed. He had been Kent’s world, the love he thought would define the rest of his life. But then he’d became the accident that warped the metal of Kent’s frame, that allowed rust to creep into his bones.

Jack Zimmermann had wrapped himself into a twisting screaming ball of fire and metal and never bothered to look back to see what had become of the boy that had given him his heart.

Of course that was all in the past, ancient history. That’s what Kent told himself as he baked by his building’s rooftop pool in the hot Vegas sunlight, as he sweated and twisted in the club, as he sailed down the ice and felt the burn of frost in his lungs. He repeated it to himself, over and over. He didn’t care about Jack Zimmermann anymore, not at all, not a little bit. 

Sometimes, he almost believed it.

Kent felt nauseous as Bittle finally spotted his audience and began to glide across the ice to where they stood observing him. 

Of course Jack Zimmermann’s new boyfriend would join Kent’s team. Why not. What else, really, could the universe throw at him to fuck with him more than it already had. Eric Bittle, the man who was invading Kent’s team, Kent’s _home_ , and dragging behind him the smoldering wretched reminder of every fucking awful thing Kent has ever done. 

_Upgrade_ , Kent thought to himself, unbidden, as Bittle came closer. 

“Hey y’all,” he said, breathing heavy as he came to a sharp stop in front of them. _He stops like he’s still on figure skates,_ Kent noted distantly as Abyan smiled and asked him if he enjoyed the skate. Bittle’s eyes kept nervously skittering over to Kent even as he chatted at Abyan. Kent made sure his expression remained as impassive as he could make it as he coolly stared at the other man. 

“Have you met Kent?” Abyan said, gesturing towards Kent and finally putting a halt to the stream of words tumbling from Bittle’s mouth.

“Um,” Bittle said, nervousness bleeding into his voice for the first time as he turned his head to properly look at Kent. “Kind of? I mean it was a while ago and it was… but yes. I mean. Nice to see you again.” Abyan frowned slightly at Bittle’s fumbled words. _Oh you’re not fooling anyone sweetheart_ , Kent thought, meeting his eyes, feeling a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his own mouth.

“Bittle,” Kent said, nodding his head. There was a long pause, and he could practically sense Abyan getting ready to kick him or something if he didn’t say anything else “Welcome to the team,” he finally added. “We’re happy to have you join us.” He wasn’t sure what his face was doing but he was pretty sure it wasn’t anything pleasant. 

“Yeah,” Bittle said, nervousness not fading from his voice even as it hardened and his eyes narrowed at Kent. “Happy to be here.” 

“Ooookay,” Abyan said, looking between the two men. “Anyways, Bittle if you want to- shit,” she said as her phone began to ring. “Is ka warran?” she said, frowning at whatever the person on the other side said. “Waa maxay? No wait, hold on-” she put her hand over the speaker, glancing between Bittle and Kent before visibly saying ‘fuck it’ to herself. “I’m really sorry Eric, I have to take this. I’m sure Kent’ll be happy to take you back to the locker room and finish showing you around - I’ll catch up with you later okay?” She turned and began to walk away without waiting for either of them to reply, speaking rapidly.

Kent’s stomach twisted as he turned to look at Bittle, relief washing over him to see that Bittle seemed just as uncomfortable as he was to be suddenly left alone with the other man. Kent pulled off his cap, running his hand through his unruly blond hair before replacing it. Bittle tracked the movement with his eyes but otherwise didn’t move. Clearing his throat, Kent roughly gestured over his shoulder. 

“Wanna put your stuff back in the locker room?” He asked. Bittle didn’t answer for a long, uncomfortable moment, dark brown eyes slowly tracking across Kent’s face. Kent was struck with the sudden, intense feeling of being measured and being found wanting. He stuck his hands in his pockets, rolling his shoulders back as if to shake the weight of Bittle’s gaze. It worked, in a way – the motion seemed to release Bittle from his examination of Kent, and the other man finally moved to skate off the ice. 

“Sure,” he called over his shoulder as Kent walked down to where he was now waiting just off the ice at the entrance to the tunnel. 

“How much had Abyan showed you already?” Kent asked as he awkwardly squeezed past Bittle to lead him down the tunnel. There was lots of space for both of them, but Bittle didn’t move to make it any easier for Kent to pass him by, and Kent was abruptly, intensely angry. Who the fuck was Bittle to judge him anyways? He’d met the kid once – not even once, he was just a fucking nosey asshole who’d happened to overhear a single conversation. _A conversation that included some of the worst things Kent had ever hurled at Jack,_ Kent’s inner voice reminded him. _Plus whatever Jack had told him about Kent over the years._ Kent swallowed as he led Bittle through the tunnel in silence. 

“Just the locker rooms,” Bittle said suddenly, and Kent barely managed to stop himself from jumping at the words, sudden and loud in the dimly lit tunnel. It took him a moment to remember what he’d asked, and by the time he did, Bittle was speaking again. “She said she wanted to show me the most important thing first – the ice.” Kent bit his lip but didn’t say anything as they finally entered the locker room. Bittle didn’t even hesitate before sitting down on the bench in front of his newly claimed cubby, where Kuznetsov had sat until two weeks previously. 

“Already made yourself at home, huh?” Kent asked, leaning against the wall. Bittle looked up at him sharply, but Kent just smiled at him, sweet and slow and completely insincere. Bittle’s eyes narrowed for a second before he smiled as well, matching Kent sweetness for sweetness for secret ugliness. Kent blinked, thrown, and Bittle’s smile grew before he bent over to remove his skates. 

“Sure have,” he said, voice full of false southern cheer. “Mama and Coach moved me into my new place last week.” The other man began rambling on about his new place, which apparently had a pool on the roof, while Kent stared at the side of his head and tried really, really hard not to think about what made him better than Kent. _He didn’t choose him over you_ , he reminded himself. _He chose everything over you._

“Parson?” Kent blinked out of his daze, Bittle suddenly in standing in front of him.

“What did Jack think of you signing with the enemy then?” He blurts out, mind too mired in the past to stop himself from saying the name he’d promised himself he’d never say in front of the other man. Bittle’s eyes shot wide, then narrowed, shuttering away all signs of what he might be feeling. 

“Jack thought it was a good offer and agreed that an expansion team was a good place to build my skills.” 

“But not on the Falconers huh? Wow, must suck, your boyfriend not wanting to play with you.” Bittle pressed his lips together, skin around them turning white. He took a deep breath before speaking however, and when he did, his voice was calm. 

“How about we make a deal, Parson? How about you keep Jack’s name out of your mouth when you’re around me, and I’ll do the same for you?” Kent ran his tongue over the front of his teeth, knowing he should just take the deal, that it was the smart choice for him, for his team, for his _game_ , but… well, he wasn’t exactly known for making the smart choice.

“You sure? I know a thing or two about missing Zimms and his cock, we can commiserate sometime.” This time Bittle’s entire face went white with anger. Still, he controlled himself, shaking his head and turning away and it just made Kent angrier. Poison falling from his mouth was par the course at this point, so it was no effort for him to dig in, to tug on the thread of potential weakness that the other man had shown him.

“What’s the matter Bittle? Jack dump you? Couldn’t do long distance? Or maybe you just couldn’t live up to the original.” 

Bittle stopped abruptly in the doorway, turning to stare at Kent, hands clenched and shaking at his sides. Kent continued, fingers tingling and head spinning, gesturing back and forth between the two of them. 

“You must have noticed how alike we are. Guess Jack has a type eh?”

“I’m nothing like you, Kent.” Bittle said, voice soft and dangerous. 

“No?” Kent said, anxiety making him lightheaded, feeling reckless. “You’re just the replacement Bittle, since Jack can’t have the original anymore.” _Liar,_ the voice inside his head said. _You’re the one who doesn’t live up to Jack’s standards._

“You don’t even know me Parson.” Bittle said, shaking his head. “Why are you doing this? It’s been fucking years, get the fuck over it.” 

Get over it. Get over the sight of Jack lying on the bathroom floor, lips blue. The way he used to look at Kent, eyes glassy and full of love. Get over it? Some days Kent couldn’t even breath with it. 

He didn’t say anything, and after a long moment of staring at him, Bittle shook his head in disgust, showing himself out of the locker room. 

_/ \\_

“Yeah boy!! That’s what I’m fucking talking ABOUT!” Kent could barely hear what he was saying as he slammed into Swoops, who was already clutching Bittle to his chest. The roar of the crowd and the other guys made his ears ring as they hit the boards as a group, Bittle in the middle. His head turned as Swoops’ grip on him forced his helmet half off his head, and he met Kent’s eyes. The younger man’s feral grin was matched in wildness by Kent’s own, and they stared at each other, a quiet moment in the chaos, breathing heavily and awash in the fear and joy of a win that they had barely clawed away from the other team. 

Press seemed to take forever, it always did with the scream of adrenaline beginning to fade from Kent’s veins, the itch for other forms of stimulation beginning to take over. By the time he made it back to the locker room nearly everyone was gone except for Bittle, which was fine with Kent. 

“Want to go dancing?” He asked, voice rough with hours of shouting followed by interrogation by the press. Bittle turned from his stall to meet Kent’s eyes, the same feral grin from the ice stretching across his face. Kent smiled in response, nodding to the few other guys still lingering behind. He didn’t bother extending the offer to them. Most of the guys didn’t like clubbing half as much as Kent, preferring the bar scene, and those that did weren’t interested in going to the clubs in Vegas, only going out when they were playing away games. Besides, if no one else came, Bittle would let Kent take them to a gay club. 

A month into the season, after months of camp and training, and he didn’t like Bittle any more than he had the first time he’d met him. Most of the time when they were around each other they spent the entire time shooting vicious little barbs at each other, occasionally uniting to shit-talk someone else but otherwise keeping each other firmly in their sights at all times. It had made the other guys nervous, Kent knew, Swoops even having confronted him about it after dinner with Fuyumi and the kids one night, asking Kent what the hell he was playing at fighting with the new kid like that. Kent had shrugged, not sure he could put into words the way his interactions with Bittle had evolved since that first fight at the rink. 

All Kent knew that was when the adrenaline was singing through his veins, when he felt like he was going to itch out of his skin with it, that Bittle would match him step for step whether it was the cruel words that they threw at each other or their bodies twisting with strangers on the dance floor. That unlike everyone else on the team, Bittle wouldn’t stare at him with worried eyes as he asked the bartender to line up shots for him. That Bittle’s eyes would never skitter across him in discomfort as Kent wrapped himself around a brunette twink on the dance floor, sliding his fingers into the other man’s jeans. 

Bittle would meet his eyes and refuse to let go, would tear Kent’s skin off and rub salt into the wound, but in all the months that they’d been hitting at each other’s weakest points, he’d never been disgusted by Kent’s behaviour, never looked at him with pity in his eyes. Instead he would match Kent shot for shot, Georgia slurring thick and hot as summer through his words as he leaned close, pointing out which guys were checking them out. He would dance to Beyoncé and every eye in the club would be on him without him even trying. 

Tonight the itch in his bones had Kent feeling like he was losing his mind, like he needed to peel his skin off to feel human again, to stop the ache in his teeth and his lungs. In the safety of sweating bodies roiling together, in the flashing lights and deafening music, Kent scanned the crowds. He left Bittle ordering their drinks at the bar when he finally spotted who he was looking for, winding through the crowd of sweaty men, most of them shirtless, the warm press of naked skin against his arms sliding electric through his veins. 

Kent returned just as the bartender finished making their drinks, and Bittle carried both to a dark corner, waiting, expressionless, as Kent rubbed white powder into his gums, and this was another reason why he would rather go out with a man he was pretty sure hated him rather than anyone else on the team. Because there was no judgement in his eyes as Bittle handed Kent his drink, as he shook his head when Kent held out the baggie towards him. 

“Wanna dance?” Kent shouted over the pounding bassline, and Bittle tossed back his drink, giving Kent that familiar wild smile. 

Kent had both hands gripping the firm ass of the guy he was dancing with, head spinning with the drugs and the feeling of the guy’s hard cock rubbing against Kent’s thigh when he spotted Bittle heading out of the club, an incredibly hot, shirtless man with waist-length dreadlocks following him, fingers twined with Bittle’s. And this was why, Kent thought, Bittle liked to go out with Kent in turn. It wasn’t anything either of them could explain to anyone else on the team but just like Bittle didn’t judge him for the drugs or the times he’d walked into a club bathroom to find Kent on his knees with his head up a girl’s skirt or some guy’s cock down his throat, Kent didn’t judge him for the men that he left with, night after night. 

Kent supposed he should probably feel guilty about the fact that Jack’s boyfriend was cheating on him, that Kent knew, that Kent was aiding and abetting. Should feel angry on Jack’s behalf, vindicated that Bittle wasn’t the perfect replacement for Kent that he seemed to be, bitter that he got to be with Jack and Kent didn’t when he treated Jack like this. 

But he didn’t feel any of that. 

Most of the time, he didn’t feel much of anything at all.

_/ \\_

The game was brutal. 

By the time the buzzer sounded, Kent had spent nearly ten minutes in the box in total, and he wasn’t even known for fighting. But everyone was throwing dirty checks that night, and there was barely a minute where either team managed to keep all their players on the ice. Bittle had actually instigated a fight with that Russian monster, Mashkov, and Kent couldn’t believe that they weren’t having to scrape him off the boards. That wasn’t what Kent was thinking about though, as he stripped down and stepped into the shower.

The moment that Kent couldn’t get out of his mind had happened the third period, the game tied 0-0 with everyone getting more angry and frustrated with every second that ticked by on the clock. Bittle had the puck and was zipping down the ice with it, using his speed and size to dodge the Falconers players with grace. Kent didn’t see Jack approach, temporarily focused on getting himself down the ice and into position for Bittle to pass to. He saw the check when it happened though, Jack bearing down and slamming Bittle into the boards. The puck sailed off, quickly snatched up Swoops. 

Then Jack leaned down and said something to Bittle, and Bittle’s entire body seemed to slump in defeat. There was a second like the whole stadium was taking a breath, as Jack stared down at Bittle, who was staring at the ice, before the older man skated off. 

The Falconers scored 10 minutes later, Jack dodging past Bittle and Swoops to sink the puck into the corner of the net. 

The hot water of the shower was doing a good job of blocking out the sounds of his teammates stripping down, the tired compliments and grumbled complaints, but it couldn’t do anything about the voices in Kent’s mind. _He didn’t do it on purpose,_ Kent told himself. _He wouldn’t have._ Bittle was competitive as any of them, he wouldn’t let his boyfriend score on his team for anything. Still, Kent couldn’t help but replaying the moment when Jack spoke to him over and over again in his mind. What had Jack said to him? Why had Bittle reacted like that? 

_Had_ he let his boyfriend win?

By the time Kent emerged from the showers, steam drifting off his body in the cold locker room air, the place was empty, his teammates already off to the hotel. It was for the best anyways, Kent didn’t really want to talk to anyone, and this way he wouldn’t have to rebuff anyone’s invitations to go out. Like there was anywhere to go out in Providence anyways. 

He was just pulling his shirt over his head when Bittle entered the room, looking exhausted. He glanced at Kent but didn’t meet his eyes, instead heading over to his stall, packing up his bag with none of his usual care. Kent watched him, the tension in his muscles where his shirt pulled tight across them. He hadn’t mentioned Jack to Bittle, not since that first day, but…

“What did he say to you?” Bittle froze, but didn’t turn, and Kent knew he knew exactly what Kent was talking about. 

“Who?” Bittle said anyways. 

“You know who. Jack. What did he say to you?” 

“When?”

“Don’t play dumb Bittle. It ain’t cute,” Kent snapped.

“I don’t see how it’s any business of yours, Parson,” Bittle said, arm jerking though he didn’t make any move to continue packing. 

“It’s my business if you threw the game for him.” Bittle spun around at that, eyes wide with shock. 

“What?” He asked, voice quickly sliding into quiet fury. “You think I threw the game?”

“Jack got past you at the end, and you spoke to hi-”

“Are you fucking kidding me Parson?” Bittle snapped. “I didn’t throw the game, I would never fucking do that and _fuck_ you very much for thinking I would ever do something like that. What Jack said to me was… personal but I’ve never let anything personal affect my game a day in my life, much less throwing a game for a fucking _boy_.” 

_Jack’s not just any boy though_ , Kent thought, as Bittle paused, breathing heavy in his anger. _You have to know that. You’re dating him. You have to know how much more he is._ Bittle had a black eye from his fight with Mashkov, but even with one eye mostly swollen shut they were still shooting fire at Kent from across the room. 

“I don’t fucking know!” Kent said, “I don’t know what fucking lengths you’d go for your goddamn boyfriend, even if you’re screwing around on him constantly.”

“I’m not-” Bittle started, then cut himself off. 

“You’re not what? Screwing around on him?” Kent snorted, and he knew his expression was ugly. “I’m not sure what else you’d call all the guys you take home and let fuck you.”

“Fuck you Parson.”

“No, fuck you! You have Jack, you have everything I–” Kent cut himself off, shaking his head, “–you have everything but that’s not fucking good enough for you!” He could feel himself getting angrier and angrier the more he spoke, and was suddenly aware that there was quite a bit that he’d been shoving down and ignoring when it comes to Bittle. “Maybe you didn’t do it on purpose,” he continues, face twisting to make it clear he didn’t believe the words even as he spoke them, “but can you honestly say you didn’t go easier on Jack, play a little bit less hard, just because it’s Jack?” Bittle opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated, and Kent knew he had him. 

“You aren’t sure, are you?” He said, voice soft, coaxing. Cruel. “How can you be sure? You’re so used to playing on the same team as him, used to having him in your bed, you probably don’t even realize how much easier you go on him than anyone else.” Bittle’s face, which had been looking slightly lost, hardened back to its previous anger at that. 

“Fuck off Parson, I could say the exact same goddamn thing about you but I wouldn’t because I know you’re a professional, _just like I am_.” Kent snorted.

“Professional, right. More like you’re such a fucking slut, you’ll let anyone put it in you, then run back to Jack and act like the good little boyfriend. I guess it would be easy to fuck him over on the ice when you’re so used to fucking him over every–”

“I’m not the only one who brings their personal shit into their professional life.” Bittle snaps. “Don’t you forget, I know you Kent Parson.” Kent laughs, brittle and sharp. 

“Right, that’s me, the fuckup.” Bittle’s dark eyes bore into Kent’s for a long, tense moment, and Kent braces himself for whatever words Bittle would throw at Kent next. Instead, Bittle smiled, small and vicious and Kent was so thrown by it he almost didn’t catch it when he finally spoke. 

“Just give it a few more seasons _Kenny_ ,” Bittle’s voice was poison, was acid burning through Kent’s skin and he couldn’t stop himself from flinching from the old nickname. “I’m sure everyone will find out how worthless you are eventually. Too fucked up to care about, right?” 

Bittle was gone before Kent had even finished processing the words. He could hear them echoing in the back of his head in his own voice even as he replayed them in Bittle’s sweet accent. The distant sounds of a party, the scent of stale beer and pie. The familiar smell and darkness of a locker room. Past, present, and Kent swallowed down on the sudden urge to vomit. 

_Fuck._

_/ \\_

Kent was almost asleep when someone started banging on his hotel door. Eyes bleary, he stumbled across the room to open it up, not bothering to check who it was first. He stumbled back a step in surprise when he found a very pissed-off looking Eric Bittle waiting for him on the other side. 

“Bittle?” He asked, and Bittle pushed past him without a word. Kent slowly closed the door, not taking his eyes off of Bittle, who strode over to the bed, sitting down and turning his intense stare on Kent. Kent sighed, running a hand over his face. 

“Right, can we do this later Bittle? I’m exhausted.” Bittle didn’t say anything, and after a few minutes of the two of them staring at each other in silence, Kent had had enough. 

“Right, whatever,” he said. “I’m going back to sleep. For what it’s worth... “ he hesitates, before letting out another sigh and continuing, “...I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I know you wouldn’t throw a game for Jack or anyone else. And it’s none of my business who you fuck–”

“I’m not cheating on Jack.” Bittle says, and Kent’s face twists into something unpleasant without his permission. 

“Look man, I’m not getting into your business, and I’m not going to tell Jack–” _Because I’ve already broken his heart enough,_ he thinks, “–but you can’t… I go out with you all the time, I know–”

“You know what I’ve wanted you to know,” Bittle says, and Kent blinks, thrown. “Jack and I broke up before I even signed with the Aces. I wanted to come out, he didn’t. End of story.” Kent blinked again. 

“What?” He finally asked, voice hoarse. 

“I haven't been cheating on Jack,” Bittle repeated, voice patronising and sweet, “because we broke up months ago.”

“Okay,” Kent said slowly. He looked at Bittle for a long moment, as if what the hell the other man was thinking would suddenly be spelled out on his face. But Bittle was as inscrutable as ever, and Kent just felt more tired than before. “Was that it? Because like, I’m sorry Bittle, but it’s almost midnight and I’m exhausted and–”

“I want you to fuck me,” Bittle interrupted him again, face still impressively blank, and Kent gaped at him. 

“What?” He asked, trying not to think about how embarrassingly squeaky it came out. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Bittle repeated, voice mocking. 

“I heard you,” Kent snapped, running a hand through his hair. “What the fuck Bittle. Why…?” 

“He’s dating someone new,” Bittle said with a calmness that said that he’d already raged and cried about it earlier. “A girlfriend. Someone he can be public with.” Bitterness crept into his tone, and Kent felt his spine stiffen. 

“There’s nothing… just because he’s dating a girl now, Bittle, you can’t–” Bittle cut him off with a wave of his hand. 

“I’m not trying to be biphobic, it’s just…” Bittle sighed, running both hands through his hair and leaving them gripping the back of his head. “I wish I could have given him that.” He finally said, voice soft, and _shit_ Kent was not equipped to deal with this, especially not with this kid that he’s barely spent a minute not fighting with since he met him. 

He didn’t know how to deal with someone whose wounds, it turns out, match perfectly with his own.

“Bittle…” Kent started, not sure what he was going to say. He was saved by Bittle interrupting him again. 

“Forget it,” he snapped, voice suddenly filled with anger, as he jerked his head up to meet Kent’s eyes. “If you don’t want to… I just thought… but forget it, okay, just–” He stood abruptly, heading towards the door. “I’ll go–” His exit was halted when he tried to pass Kent and Kent grabbed his arm, spinning him and slamming him up against the wall.

“What the _fuck_ Kent!” Bittle’s expression was furious, and his hands rose to push Kent away. Kent didn’t realize what he was going to do until he was already doing it, hand releasing its grip on Bittle’s bicep to grab at the back of Bittle’s head instead, pulling back roughly on the soft blonde strands before leaning slightly down to slot his lips against Bittle’s. Bittle’s lips were soft against his, and Kent was aware of how rough and chapped his own lips were even as he pressed forward, forcing the kiss deeper. Bittle moaned as Kent’s tongue slipped inside his mouth, hands surging up to grip the sides of Kent’s face. They kissed viciously, messy with spit and teeth. There was no gentleness in the way their mouths came together, and Kent felt a rush of familiar adrenaline sweep up his spine.

Bittle hooked a leg around Kent’s ankle, forcing him closer and Kent went easily. The scrape of Bittle’s jeans against his bare legs reminded him that he was only in boxers while Bittle was fully dressed, and he pulled back. Bittle let him pull of his shirt, easy as anything, and began to tug at his own belt buckle when Kent began to walk him back towards the bed, their mouths not separating for a moment. When Bittle’s legs hit the edge of the bed he bit down on Kent’s lip in surprise, and Kent _moaned_. He cracked his eyes open just in time to watch Bittle’s pupils dilate, which just made him groan again. 

Hands that were fumbling at buttons were abruptly on Kent’s shoulders, spinning them and shoving Kent back onto the mattress. Kent went with a huff of air, bouncing slightly. He stared, eyes wide as Bittle stripped off his jeans and underwear in a single, fluid movement. Bittle was small but compact, the hard cut of his abs obvious even in the dim light as he climbed up onto the bed after Kent, straddling him. Kent’s eyes were pulled, helplessly, to where Bittle’s cock lay against his thigh, hard and wet and so fucking pretty. 

Kent wanted to choke on it. 

He might have voiced that thought aloud, what with the strangled noise Bittle made before suddenly pressing Kent back into the mattress and shoving his tongue back into Kent’s mouth. Kent managed to wiggle out of his boxers without their mouths separating, and then they were both naked, grinding together. Kent broke their kiss, just for a moment, head tilting back as he moaned at the feeling of Bittle’s cock sliding up Kent’s stomach. Bittle took the opportunity to bite down on Kent’s neck, _hard_ , hard enough to bruise and Kent would have bitched at him if his eyes hadn’t been too busy rolling back into his head, his dick jerking where it was pinned against Bittle’s. Bittle hummed in satisfaction, circling his hips against Kent’s as he reclaimed Kent’s mouth, biting at his lip until it felt hot and swollen. Kent would have been happy to come like that, with the hard flex of Bittle’s thighs against his own, his hands clutching at Kent’s shoulders as he ground down hard, but Bittle pulled away, panting. 

“Want you to fuck me,” he repeated, voice rougher than it was earlier and Kent’s face must have replied for him because Bittle grinned at him, that familiar grin that promised trouble for Kent and everyone else in Bittle’s vicinity. A thrill shot through Kent at that smile, familiar and brand new at once.

“Lube’s in my bag,” he rasped, and Bittle laughed, an uncomplicatedly happy sound for what led up to that moment, for who they were to each other. He climbed off of Kent, already digging through Kent’s bag before Kent even thought to protest. Kent didn’t have time to do much more than prop himself up on his elbows so he could stare at Bittle’s ass, bent over Kent’s duffle, before Bittle was turning, lube and condoms in hand. Kent jerked his eyes up, but from the smirk that curled Bittle’s lips, he knew exactly where Kent had been looking. Still, he didn’t say anything about it as he climbed back onto the bed, once again swinging his legs over Kent and settling into his lap. Kent groaned as Bittle’s warmth and weight returned, and Bittle’s smile turned even more pleased than before. 

“Grab the headboard,” he said. Kent’s eyes had caught on the way the tip of Bittle’s cock was shining in the light, wet with precome, and it took him a long moment before Bittle’s words caught up with him. 

“What?” He said, aware of just how dazed he sounded but too fucking turned on to care.

“Grab the headboard,” Bittle repeated, uncapping the lube and spilling some onto his fingers, “and don’t even think about letting go unless I tell you you can.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Kent said with feeling, obeying without thinking about it. 

“Now,” Bittle continued, reaching behind himself. He closed his eyes as he slid a finger inside of himself, sweet as anything, and Kent’s fingers flexed on the headboard. He didn’t let go though, and Bittle bit his own lip, hooded eyes glancing at Kent’s hands before he continued. “Now,” he repeated, voice slightly more breathy than it was before, “I already did this in the shower before I came up here.” Kent’s hips bucked up without his permission at Bittle’s confession,and Bittle grinned. “So you’re in luck, because you won’t have to wait long for me to stretch.” His hand began moving between his legs and Kent couldn’t help the groan that slid from his throat as he watched Bittle’s hips roll backwards as he fucked himself onto his fingers. 

“Fuck, Bittle,” he said, and Bittle shushed him. 

“Don’t worry honey, I’m almost done. Wanted to be ready to take your cock.” Kent groaned, eyes sliding shut as he tipped his head back, the curled up vowels of Bittle’s accent wrapping his words around Kent’s head. “It’s so pretty sweetheart, can’t wait to sit on it. Gonna ride you until I come, and if you’re good and don’t let go of the headboard, I’ll let you come too.” Shit, Bittle was hitting kinks Kent didn’t even know he had, and he felt his hips jerk again, helplessly, as he opened his eyes. 

Bittle saw Kent’s eyes open and he leaned back on his free hand, giving Kent a better angle to see the – _fuck_ – three fingers Bittle was sliding in and out of his ass, fast and rough and so, so fucking hot. His breaths were coming in hitched little gasps but his eyes, slitted but still open as he looked back at Kent watching him, remained completely in control, cooly assessing the man squirming beneath him. 

“You want it baby?” He asked, voice far breathier and far more hoarse than it had been a moment ago. Kent had to swallow before he was able to speak.

“Fuck yeah. Bittle, c’mon man,” he said. Bittle hummed, tilting his head back as he increased his speed, fucking his fingers in and out of himself fast enough that the sloppy wet sounds of the lube were audible in the quiet of the room. The muscles in Bittle’s thighs were twitching and Kent wanted to bite them. He groaned, his fingers flexing on the headboard, arms beginning to ache from holding them above his head, from fighting the urge to just reach up, to grab Bittle, to replace Bittle’s fingers with his cock. To _fuck_ him. 

“Beg,” Bittle says, not bothering to raise his head. Kent’s eyes slide down the long column of his throat, the sweat beading on his collar bones, his nipples dark shadows in the dim light. 

“Please,” Kent says, too turned on to think about anything other than how badly he wanted to be inside the other man. “Please,” he repeated, not sure what else to say. _I’ve never begged anyone for anything before_ , he thinks to himself wildly, _fuck, what the fuck am I doing_. It seems to have been enough for Bittle though, because the other man pulled his fingers out of himself, and Kent moaned as he slid a condom onto Kent’s dick. He stroked Kent’s cock slowly, adding more lube as he did so. Bittle’s head was tilted to the side slightly, mouth just a little bit parted as he looked down at Kent’s dick and suddenly all Kent could think about was how amazing Bittle would look on his knees in front of Kent, swallowing his cock down. The image barely has enough time to pass through his mind, though, before Bittle was shifting himself forward, and, finally, guiding the head of Kent’s cock to his stretched hole. 

Both men groaned as the head of Kent’s cock finally slid inside of Bittle, lube and gravity easing the way. Bittle slid down so slow that Kent felt like he was dying, but eventually he bottomed out, pressed as closely to Kent as possible. Kent bit his lip, still swollen and tender from Bittle’s earlier attentions, and watched as Bittle sat in his lap, arms trembling slightly where they were braced against Kent’s chest. His eyes were shut, and he was taking slow, deep breaths. Kent wanted him to move so bad he could scream with it, but he just readjusted his grip on the headboard and waited. After what feels like an eternity, Bittle finally moved, rising barely an inch before sliding back down. 

“Fuck!” Kent said, slamming his head back onto the mattress, and Bittle laughed, breathier than earlier but still as openly happy. Kent cracked his eyes open to see the other man smiling down at him, wide and open and Kent feels something twist in his chest because he’s never seen Bittle smile like this. _Have I never seen him happy?_ Kent thinks with an abrupt jolt. 

Bittle didn’t let him chase that revelation down though, choosing that moment to lean forward and _bite_ Kent’s pec so hard he couldn’t help but shout, back arching up off the bed. Bittle pulled back, expression hungry and satisfied and Kent slowly allowed the tension of the abrupt violence to leach from his body as he settled back onto the mattress. He couldn’t believe he didn’t let go of the headboard. He couldn’t believe he was, somehow, impossibly, even more turned on. 

“Bittle-” he started, but cut off with a moan when Bittle suddenly surged up, thighs flexing as he raised himself off of Kent’s lap before slamming back down. Kent’s grip tightened on the headboard to the point where it began to hurt, and the pain just made everything sharper when Bittle finally, _finally_ began to move. As if to make up for how long he had made Kent wait before they got to that point, he rode Kent with a fierce wildness. 

Kent was peripherally aware of how much noise they were making in the silent of the late night, between his own loud moans, Bittle’s breathy little grunts and groans, the squeaking of the bed, the obscene sounds of their bodies coming together, over and over again. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the hot squeeze of Bittle around him though, the pain in his hands and arms, the way Bittle’s face twisted with pleasure as he threw his head back. His hands tensed and released where they were braced against Kent’s stomach, but he was barely putting any weight on his arms. The flex of his thighs, the squeeze of his stomach muscles with every thrust reminded Kent of how strong Bittle was, that he was fucking another athlete, someone whose stamina and strength matched his own. 

Bittle’s eyes were squeezed shut, giving Kent the freedom to stare at him, at the way sweat was beading on his forehead, the way he bit at his own lip before dropping his mouth open to pant out little noises of pleasure. _He’s beautiful_ , Kent thought, blinking in surprise. He had thought it before, was objectively aware that Bittle was attractive, but in that moment, with Bittle fucking himself down onto Kent’s cock, riding him like he wanted both of them to hurt with how good it feels, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful. 

“Kent,” Bittle gasped, drawing Kent from his reverie to see that Bittle’s eyes were now open. Glazed with pleasure, they still fixed on Kent, unwavering. “Kent, fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna come.”

“Yes, God, please Bittle,” Kent gasped out. “Come, come, come. Come on my cock, Bittle, Eric, do it.”

“ _Kenny_ ,” Bittle groaned out, shoving back and grinding his hips as his cock jerked, come painting the expanse of Kent’s stomach. Kent’s stomach twisted in something he couldn’t identify and he shouted his own release, cock twitching inside of Bittle as he followed Bittle down. 

Bittle stayed sitting in Kent’s lap for a long moment, hunched over and trying to catch his breath while Kent did the same, staring up at the ceiling and trying to remember the last time he came that hard. Finally, with a groan and making a face as he did so, Bittle pulled himself up, letting Kent’s soft cock slide out of him. He didn’t go far, just slumped over on his side next to Kent. It isn’t until Kent blinked down at his cock and thought to remove the condom that he realized that he still hadn’t let go of the headboard. Bittle must have realized the same thing because he sat up, pulling the condom off and tying it shut. He tossed it into the trash next to the bed then turned back to Kent, running his hands up Kent’s arms.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he whispered as his fingers reached Kent’s where they were still clutching at the headboard. “You can let go now, c’mon.” It takes a moment before Kent registered the permission for what it is, another long moment before he could convince his fingers to unlock from the wood. He tried to move his arms down and moaned in pain, as if every bit of pain that was muffled by the pleasure of the sex was returning all at once. Bittle shushed him, leaning down to pepper soft kisses all over Kent’s face before drawing him into a slow, sweet kiss as he eased Kent’s arms down. He kept kissing Kent, so different from how they kissed earlier, rubbing at the muscles in Kent’s arms as he did so. The pain begans to leach from his limbs, and Kent moaned into the kiss. 

“That’s right baby,” Bittle said, pressing a final kiss to Kent’s lips before pulling away. He looked at Kent, faces too close to each other for Kent to escape his gaze. 

“What do you want?” He asked, and Kent had no idea what to say. “What do you need?” He tried instead. Kent shook his head. 

“I don’t know,” he said.

_/\\_

Kent didn’t mean to ghost Bittle. And it wasn’t like he _did_ ghost him, not really. You couldn’t ghost someone that you saw practically every day. That’s what Kent told himself anyways, as he snuck out of his own room before Bittle woke up the morning after the night they fucked, when he carefully avoided looking in Bittle’s direction as the guys chirped him mercilessly for the very noticeable bite on his pec, the dark hickey on his neck. When he didn’t speak to Bittle for the next three weeks outside of games and practice, didn’t even look at him. He still felt it though, as the looks Bittle shot at him slowly transformed from worry to fury to quiet, bitter resignation. 

It was better this way, Kent told himself, late one night as he sat on the bench in the locker room, all of the lights off. He’d come to the rink hoping that the feel of his skates cutting into the ice would kill the urge he had to slice into his own skin, to try and dig out the broken and bleeding parts of himself so he could start again. It had worked in a way – the tapping of his ghost trying to escape his skull was still echoing loud in his head, but exhaustion weighed his bones down, kept him anchored to the bench. His breathing was loud in the choking silence of the rink, abandoned other than him, and he felt like he was drowning as he sat there and felt the freezing sting of the air like a weight pressing him down onto the bench. 

It was better that Bittle got disappointed by Kent now, better that he finally realized what a fuckup Kent was, what a useless piece of shit. Better now, than later. Better than after Kent got attached. 

Kent had shown Bittle the worst of himself, and he still hadn’t realized it, still hadn’t run, so Kent hadn’t had a choice, had to make him _see_ , had to make him realize what Jack and everyone else before and since him had realized. Bittle needed to know, needed to understand what Kent was, so he wouldn’t get burnt up in the car crash flames of Kent’s screaming heart. 

Kent pressed his tongue up against the back of his teeth, taking in a slow, slow deep breath. It was better this way, he told himself again.

It was better for both of them.

_/ \\_

Kent would have cheerfully continued ignoring Bittle until Kent finally managed to run himself into his own grave, pulling the dirt over his still-breathing body himself. ‘Would have’ being the key phrase, because Bittle was a stubborn, angry dick, and anyone who said otherwise was just being fooled by the sweet Southern charm. Bittle was an asshole, Bittle was quiet fury, Bittle was a knife disguised as a man. 

Bittle was a scheming little fuck who cornered Kent in the garage after optional skate a month after they fucked. 

“Fuck you Parson!” Is the first thing he said, voice hard and full of anger. Kent flinched back from him, eyes darting around for an escape he knew didn’t exist.

“What?” He asked, as if he didn’t know exactly what. He could almost see that exact thought written on Bittle’s face, and he half braced himself to be punched. 

“You goddamn know,” Bittle said, voice just as hard as the fist Kent had been expecting to slam into his jaw. “I didn’t ask you to be my boyfriend or anything, _Kenny_. It was just sex, we both knew that, you didn’t have to be such a cunt about it. But fine, I get it, messaged received. I’ll never ask you for a single thing ever again. But I swear to god if you don’t start talking to me and stop fucking with the energy of the team, I will slam your pretty face into the boards so hard you’ll never get another fucking endorsement again.” Bittle stopped, taking a deep breath. He watched Kent carefully for a long moment, but when Kent didn’t react, didn’t even dare blink, he just sighed, rolling his eyes in disgust. 

“Fuck you, Kent,” he said, and began to walk away. 

“Wait!” Kent said, surprising even himself, and Bittle froze, cautiously looking back over at Kent. Kent cleared his throat, taking off his cap and nervously running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t meet Bittle’s eyes, so instead he stared at the bumper of his car as he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he could see Bittle’s eyes widen in his peripheral vision. 

“Excuse me?” Bittle said, voice laced with venom. 

“I’m sorry,” Kent repeated, louder. 

“For what, exactly?” Bittle asked, voice sweet poison as he crossed his arms and took two steps back towards Kent. 

“For being an asshole,” Kent muttered, before sighing, digging his nails into his palms as he raised his head and forced himself to meet Bittle’s eyes. “Seriously, for being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that. I thought… I thought it would be easier.” 

“Easier than what?” Bittle raised an eyebrow, exasperation obvious in his voice. Kent shrugged.

“Easier than this,” he said, honesty slipping from him in a way it never did. “Easier than risking getting attached to you, easier than risking you getting attached to me.” Both of Bittle’s eyebrows had begun to creep towards his hairline. 

“Well, that’s mighty presumptuous of you, Mr. Parson,” he said, voice slow and thick. 

“Fuck,” Kent said, tipping his head back and scrubbing his hands over his face, wincing when the cap held in one hand hit his face. “Yeah,” he continued when he finally lowered his head to meet Bittle’s eyes. “Yeah, it was.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know what to tell you man. I’m an asshole. I’ve got a fuckton of issues. I’m afraid of getting hurt.” Kent threw his hands out, gesturing around them as he laughed, bitter and sharp. “Take your fucking pick.” 

Bittle’s face had softened slightly as Kent talked, and as he finished he took a tentative step forward, pausing when Kent flinched back half a step. 

“I’m still real fucking angry at you,” Bittle started with, and Kent felt something within him rot and burn. “But darlin’, you don’t need to be afraid of me.” He paused, obviously thinking. “I don’t know what you’re thinking right now,” he said, slowly, looking down at the ground, brow furrowed as he worked his way through his thoughts. “I don’t know what you’re afraid of exactly, and I ain’t your therapist to help you work through your issues.” He looked up slowly. “But I’ve enjoyed getting to know you this year. I’ve enjoyed playing with you, and I’ve enjoyed going out partying with you. I’m… I’m happy to be your friend, if you like. If you don’t do anything like that to me ever again.”

“I promise,” Kent said, suddenly desperate for Bittle to know that Kent had never meant to hurt him, not really. “I didn’t… I wasn’t... “ he stuttered to a stop, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I am really sorry for what I did. I can’t totally promise I won’t ever do anything fucked up again, but I can promise to listen to you when I do. And… I would like to be your friend, maybe.” He quirked a small half-smile at Bittle, and was relieved when Bittle returned it with a laugh. 

“Maybe friends then,” Bittle said, and Kent felt the turn of something bright and foreign in his stomach. 

_Maybe friends,_ he thought, _yeah, I can work with that_. 

_/ \\_

Despite the conversation in the parking garage that had ostensibly repaired whatever friendship had existed between them, it was still several weeks more before the tension seemed to fade completely from their interactions. The anger and guilt had been replaced with an awkwardness that Kent found no less unpleasant, and it was with great relief that he embraced the first chance for them to go out clubbing together again. Kent put great stock in alcohol's ability to erase any lingering awkwardness between two people. It had worked pretty well for him in the past anyways, though not so much when he’d tried to patch things up with Zimms, but he tried not to think about that too much.

It was after a game in which they had thoroughly handed the Senators their asses, and Kent was ready to get _fucked_ out of his head, adrenaline making his vision and hands shake. Bittle shot him that familiar smile in the locker room, and Kent realized just how much he’d missed Bittle. Like, really missed him. He waited, impatient and thrumming with energy as Bittle spoke to the press. Kent was forced to wait even longer, however, when Bittle returned to the locker room and was promptly mobbed by his teammates. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet by the time Bittle finally headed into the shower.

To be fair, Bittle deserved the praise, Kent thought to himself as he waited for the other man to finish showering and dressing to go out. He’d had a fucking sweet game, his slippery little ass sliding the puck right under Condon’s glove with two minutes left for his first NHL regulation hattie. His first goal of the night had been gorgeous too, shooting up the ice with Kent in what was becoming a familiar play to Aces fans. Jokipakka and Harpur had been coming up on his left, and he’d passed to Kent without even checking to make sure where Kent was, like he just _knew_ Kent was going to be there right when he needed him and yeah, a therapist would probably have shit to say about the way Kent’s entire body lit up at that, but whatever. 

Kent carried the puck up the ice, snarling at Stone when he tried to get all up in Kent’s face, stick snaking out to try and pry the puck from him. Englund had slammed into Kent then, having traded out with Harpur when Kent wasn’t looking. Kent felt all the breath leave his body as he began to slide in the opposite direction of where he’d been headed just moments ago. In the last seconds of control, he flicked his wrist, puck leaving tape just as Englund’s momentum sent them both sliding into the boards. He didn’t see Bittle grab the puck, just the roar of the crowd that set his blood alight. By the time he had shoved Englund off himself, Bittle had traversed the width of the rink, skimming down the boards on the far side from Kent, with Stone and Jokipakka bearing down on him. Swoops was skating up just behind them but Kent could already tell he wouldn’t make it to Bittle before the two Senators. With Jokipakka approaching from the front and Stone from the back, about to be completely cornered, Bittle snapped his stick forward. The two players rammed Bittle into the boards and the buzzer sounded. 

Amstutz had scored after Bittle, a close shot just outside the crease that had the refs reviewing the tape. The Sens made a couple decent runs on the Aces after that, though they weren’t able to get anything past their boy De Vries, before Bittle scored again, a nasty little shot with an assist from Ivanov. The Sentaors kept trying after that – _bless their hearts_ echoed Bittle’s voice in Kent’s head – but De Vries wasn’t having it, and the Aces wrapped up the game 4-0. 

Kent knew he and Bittle wouldn’t be the only ones going out that night, even if it had been a home game, not after a shutout like that, but he was determined to make sure that he and Bittle were able to sneak away to a gay bar. After those goals, Bittle deserved to get his dick sucked, and Kent was gonna make fuckin’ sure that happened. _Even if you have to do it yourself?_ a mocking voice in his head asked, and he shook his head. He wasn’t making that mistake again, not with Bittle, not when they were still figuring out whatever friendship existed between them. 

Still, he couldn’t help but bite his lip when Bittle finally returned from the shower, water still dripping its way down his well-defined muscles. Bittle, of course, caught Kent looking, raising an eyebrow and smirking at the other man before unceremoniously dropping his towel on the floor. Kent rolled his eyes, keeping them fixed on Bittle’s face, though not without a struggle. 

“You about ready, princess?” He asked, lacing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could manage while trying to pretend not to be so turned on he was stupid with it. 

“Almost,” Bittle said with a smile so sweet it could give you cavities, before bending over. Kent turned around. 

There was only so much a man could reasonably take. 

_/ \\_

The club was already packed by the time they arrived, but they didn’t have any trouble sliding to the front of the line. They weren’t recognized, they never were, and both of them preferred it that way, but in the absence of the privileges of celebrity, looks would do. Luckily, both Kent and Bittle liked to show off, Bittle in a tank that proudly declared his love of Yoncé and shorts that probably broke some decency laws, Kent in jeans that looked like they’d been poured on and a t-shirt that was, honestly, at this point more holes than shirt. The bouncer looked them up and down, grinned, and raised the rope for them and Kent and Bittle stumbled inside, laughing and jostling each other. They had just reached the bar, Bittle up on his toes, shouting something chirpy and real fuckin’ rude to Kent about the size of Kent’s ass, when the first guy of the night approached them. Bittle let the guy drag him off, shooting a smirk at Kent over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd that had Kent’s stupid dick perking up in his jeans. Cursing himself for being a fucking idiot, Kent turned back to the bar, attempting to flag down the bartender. 

Kent had taken a couple of turns on the dance floor, occasionally spotting a glimpse of blonde in the flash of the strobe lights, Bittle’s head swinging loose and low as he ground his ass up against another man’s crotch. Mostly, he tried to focus on the men pressed against him, running his hands over stomachs and hips and thighs. He twisted his hips and paid for shots from a passing waiter. He ran his fingers through hair turning wet with sweat, distantly aware that he had lost his hat at some point. Someone offered him pills and he thought about it, but shook his head. He wasn’t sure what it was he wanted, what exactly was the fuel stoking the heat curling through his veins, but knowing that he didn’t want to get completely fucked. Instead, he danced, and danced, and danced. 

The next time he saw Bittle properly, he was leaned up against the bar, waiting for the bartender to bring him the two tequila shots he had ordered. He felt rather than saw the other man return to him, sliding up against his back, pressing his warmth into Kent as he tucked his chin over Kent’s shoulder and nipped at his earlobe in greeting. Kent swallowed, hard. 

The bartender returned with the shots, and Kent handed one to Bittle over his shoulder, before twisting to face him. Bittle didn’t step back as Kent turned, leaving them pressed flush together. Bittle’s face was flushed, skin slicked with sweat that plastered his top to his skin, and the smile he crooked at Kent was open and free. Plucking the salt shaker from Kent’s hand, Bittle leaned forward, and Kent sucked in a sharp breath as Bittle licked a hot stripe across Kent’s collarbone. Leaning back, Bittle smirked up at Kent as he tipped the shaker, salt spilling messily across Kent’s chest. 

Bittle took the lime from the top of his shot glass and Kent parted his lips without thinking about it when Bittle pressed the rough rind against them. He felt hypnotized, watching Bittle grin up at him before he once again leaned in to lick across Kent’s skin. Pulling back, he downed his shot, then reached up, slotting his lips against Kent’s far too briefly before retreating, sucking on the lime now trapped between his teeth. He reached up to remove the lime from his mouth, eyes never leaving Kent’s and Kent thought he was about to lose his mind. Doing away with all ceremony, Kent threw back his own shot, clumsily reaching behind him to deposit both of their glasses on the bar before grabbing Bittle’s hand. 

He could just hear Bittle’s laugh over the music as he dragged the other man through the crowd. They barely slowed down as they entered the bathroom, the sounds of the club abruptly muffling as they entered the quieter space, though the base of the music still thrummed through the air. Kent was relieved to see that there was an open stall, shoving Bittle in before following, locking the door. In there he could hear Bittle’s laugh much clearer as the other man looked at him, grinning, wild and open and so beautiful Kent felt like he could burn up from it. Instead, he sucked in a sharp breath, and dropped to his knees. 

Bittle’s eyes flew wide, and he ran a reverent hand through Kent’s hair as Kent began to work at the zip of Bittle’s shorts. The sound of the zipper opening and his own breaths rang loud in Kent’s ears, and he was so fucking turned on he was choking with it. It felt like forever before his fumbling fingers managed to get Bittle’s shorts open and dragged down his thighs, revealing his perfect cock, damp at the tip and hard against Bittle’s thigh. He leaned forward, licking at the head, and Bittle groaned in surprise, one hand flying to tangle in Kent’s hair on instinct. 

“Sorry,” Bittle said, letting go of Kent’s hair, but Kent grabbed his wrist before he could move it far, guiding it back to his head. He kept his eyes locked on Bittle as the other man once again gripped Kent’s hair, watched desire flash across his face as he obeyed Kent’s silent direction, jerking slightly on Kent’s hair. 

“Like this?” Bittle murmured even as Kent moaned. He began to guide Kent towards his cock; not that Kent needed any encouragement, eagerly leaning back down to capture Bittle’s dick in his mouth. Bittle groaned as Kent swallowed him down, hand tightening in Kent’s hair. His hips stuttered as Kent wound his tongue up and down Bittle’s dick, his desire to thrust forward warring with his manners. Which wasn’t really what Kent was going for here, so he pulled back, looking up at Bittle, who looked back at him with slightly dazed eyes. Kent continued to stroke his fingers, slick with spit and precome, up and down Bittle’s cock. 

“You can do it, you know.”

“What?” Bittle asked, and Kent couldn’t help but feel pleased at the lust that thickened his words like molasses. 

“Fuck my mouth. Pull on my hair. Use me.” Bittle moaned, head thunking back against the side of the stall. 

“Fuck, Kenny,” he said, and Kent guided Bittle’s dick back inside his own mouth. This time, Bittle didn’t hold back, thrusting into Kent’s mouth with shallow little swivels of his hips that became stronger as Kent proved that he wasn’t going to choke. 

“Ah, so good for me baby, so fucking perfect.” Kent groaned as Bittle began to speak. He was vaguely aware of how much noise they were making, aware of the sounds of other people moving in and out of the bathroom, but he was too turned on, too desperate for Bittle, to care. Besides, from the sounds of it, he was pretty sure there were two guys fucking in the far stall. 

“You take it so nice for me,” Bittle continued as Kent reached down to palm at himself, hard in his pants. He thrust harder and Kent choked a bit. Bittle stopped, looking down at Kent in concern. Kent narrowed his eyes at him and made an impatient gesture, and Bittle, thankfully, just rolled his eyes before resuming his previous movement. Kent could barely breathe, was choking on every other thrust of Bittle’s hips, and he loved it, loved the feeling of Bittle’s cock, hard and heavy, sliding across his tongue to tap against the back of his throat. Loved the feeling of Bittle’s fingers, tangled in his hair and tugging on the strands, guiding him however he wanted him. Loved the way Bittle seemed incapable of shutting up. 

“Just like that, Kenny, sweetheart,” Bittle gasped out, and Kent opened his eyes, not sure when they’d drifted shut, looking up to see Bittle staring down at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open as he panted. “Fuck, your mouth, you’re made for this baby.” Kent tongued at Bittle’s slit, and watched as the other man’s eyes slid shut. “Ah, fuck, yes, Kenny, so good.” His hips stuttered, and Kent knew he was close even before Bittle tugged on his hair in warning. Kent ignored the warning, swallowing Bittle down as far as he could manage, so deep he could barely taste it as Bittle finally came down his throat with a shout hastily muffled by Bittle turning and biting his own arm. 

It took a minute before Kent was able to catch his breath, longer still for Bittle. Kent pulled Bittle’s shorts back up for him, doing them back up as Bittle looked down at him, eyes dark and unfathomable. 

“Who knew you were so nasty, Mr. Parson?” Bittle asked as Kent stood back up, wincing slightly at the ache in his knees. 

Kent laughed as he straightened. 

“Only literally anyone I’ve ever slept with,” he said as he stretched and ran a hand down his back. Bittle frowned, something like jealousy flashing in his eyes, and suddenly his tongue was inside Kent’s mouth as he pushed him back against the wall of the stall. 

“Well fucking forget about them,” Bittle whispered into Kent’s mouth, their breaths intermingling as they panted. “I’m going to take you home and show you just how nasty you can be, with me there to teach you.” Kent could swear he could feel his arousal thickening the back of his throat. Still, he couldn’t help but chirp the other man a little. 

“Yeah?” He choked out, “You’re gonna teach me what nasty is, a nice southern boy like you?” Bittle grinned, and Kent couldn’t help his answering smile. 

“Let's just say there was a reason the devil went down to Georgia,” Bittle said, and Kent laughed. 

_/ \\_

Bittle’s apartment was closer to the club, Kent discovered as they climbed into the cab and Bittle spoke over him, giving the cab driver his address instead of Kent’s. Closer still wasn’t all that close, however, leaving plenty of time for Kent to stare out the window, thinking about how much he wanted to touch Bittle again, what they would do when they arrived at Bittle’s apartment. Without his permission, his thoughts returned to what had happened after the last time they’d slept together, and how fragile their new peace was. He wondered if BIttle was thinking the same thing, as they sped through the glitter of the Las Vegas night. 

Was Bittle worried about how Kent would react if they fucked again? Would he regret it? What if he already did regret it, what if, any moment now, he would turn to Kent and tell him it had all been a mistake, tell the driver to take Kent home because Bittle didn’t want to be around him anymore and-

“Kent?” Bittle’s hand was on his thigh, and Kent blinked, turning to meet the other man’s eyes. “You okay, sweetheart?” Bittle asked, squeezing slightly, face open and full of concern. His eyes skimmed across Kent’s face, narrowing slightly at what they saw there. 

“I swear Kent,” he said, voice lowered so that the driver couldn’t hear, grip tightening on Kent’s leg until it began to hurt. “If you even fucking think… if you don’t want to do this you tell me right now, no hard feelings, but if we screw and you-”

“I won’t,” Kent blurted, interrupting Bittle, who blinked at him, expression still wary. “I promise, Bittle. Seriously. I might freak out but… I promise to talk to you about it.” Kent paused, searching Bittle’s face for how he was receiving Kent’s words. His brow was still furrowed in concern, so Kent forced himself to go on. “I’m just… worried you’ll regret this, is all. But I… want to. I’m… yeah. I want to.” There was a long pause as Bittle searched Kent’s face, and Kent fought the urge to turn away, to shutter his expression, to hide and retreat. Eventually, finally, Bitty leaned back.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. Kent felt himself relax, and was just about to turn back to his window when Bittle spoke again. “But Kent…,” Bittle hesitated before continuing. “I’m not… I’m not going to regret this.” Kent smiled at him, thinking _you can’t know that, just you wait_. Bittle must not have actually been psychic though, because he didn’t respond. 

They made the rest of the trip across the city in silence, thought Kent still shot the occasional glance at Bittle, his face lit up with the flashing light of the strip, his hair alight with it. He thought he might have caught Bittle just turning away from looking back at Kent a couple of times as well. Kent felt nervous, even as his blood sang with arousal and energy danced electric beneath his skin, more nervous than he had in the club, more nervous than the first time they’d fucked. Maybe it was just how painfully aware he was of how much he needed to _not_ fuck this up. 

Kent insisted on paying for the cab, when they finally arrived at Bittle’s building, and the silence between them stretched into the elevator and through Bittle’s front door, where Bittle left Kent in the living room to grab them both bottles of water. Kent wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from Bittle’s place, but he did know he was surprised by what he found there. It was far more spartan than he’d have guessed, based on Bittle’s personality. There was some sort of camera set up in the corner with fancy lighting and everything. Aside from that there was a low white couch, a coffee table scattered across with scribbled-over notepaper and torn out magazine pages, a giant TV, bookcases, all of it fairly nondescript. Kent had the brief, uncharitable thought, that it looked a lot like Bittle had just bought an entire living room set out of the IKEA catalogue. 

The one thing in the room that stood out, that pulled Kent in until he found himself standing in front of it, staring, was a giant painting, almost as big as the wall, right next to the bank of windows so that the morning sun would cut across it as it broke the cityline. He was still there when Bittle returned, taking the water from him without looking away from the painting. They both stood there in silence for a long moment. 

“My friend Lardo painted it,” Bittle finally said, shattering the silence. 

“It makes me feel… safe,” Kent said softly and hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” Bittle said, just as quiet. “Me too.” After a long moment, Kent finally shook himself away from the painting, turning to gesture towards the camera. 

“What’s all that for?” He asked, and Bittle gave him a small smile. 

“How about I show you the bedroom instead?” He asked, and Kent shrugged. He certainly wasn’t going to argue with the look in Bittle’s eyes as he hooked his finger through the belt loop on Kent’s jeans and led him deeper into the apartment. 

The bedroom was slightly more homey, more signs of _Bittle_ scattered around the room from what Kent was able to glimpse of it, before Bittle was shoving him backwards onto the bed. He bounced slightly, huffing out a laugh as he looked up at Bittle. He propped himself up on his elbows to better see the expression on Bittle’s face as the other man raked his eyes up and down Kent’s body. His eyes, when they met Kent’s, were hungry, and Kent shuddered. 

“Strip,” Bittle commanded, voice hoarser than the last time he’d spoken, and Kent scrambled to obey, pulling his shirt over his head and struggling to shove his tight jeans off his hips, stuck to his skin with sweat. By the time he finally managed to tug them off, Bittle was already naked and climbing into Kent’s lap. He stayed up on his knees, reaching down to frame Kent’s face with his hands. Kent felt like he would die with the intensity of the look Bittle gave him, forcing Kent to meet his eyes as he slowly leaned down to kiss him. Kent’s hands skimmed up Bittle’s sides as his lips finally met Bittle’s, dragging lightly over each other before Kent growled and surged up to deepen it. 

Bittle laughed into his mouth, and with a fluid movement, managed to flip them over, and Kent moaned as his cock snugged up against Bittle’s ass like it was meant to fit there. Bittle laughed again at that, grinding down onto Kent’s dick as he nipped at Kent’s neck. Kent squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation, and Bittle nipped and kissed his way up the column of Kent’s neck before suddenly stopping. Kent opened his eyes to find Bittle’s faces inches away from his own, looking up at Kent with open fondness. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Kent said back, voice cracking slightly on the word. Bittle laughed again, soft and quick, but Kent didn’t know how Bittle could expect Kent to be composed, not when he was looking at Kent like he actually liked him, with enough affection that Kent could drown in it. Luckily for Kent, Bittle chose that moment to wiggle his hips backwards, grinding downwards onto Kent’s erection. 

“And hello to you too,” Bittle said, sounding very pleased as he looked down the length of their bodies, and Kent laughed. 

“Gross, is that the kind of behaviour that living in a frat house taught you? Do you call your dick Eric Jr. and give it pep talks?” 

“Yes,” Bittle said, utterly deadpan, and Kent’s brain skipped over to Jack without his permission, to Jack’s deadpan sense of humour. It was only a moment, then Kent shook his head, and reminded himself that the current moment, with Bittle hot and sweaty beneath him, was better than any ghost of teenage Jack, than any warped, broken piece of that car crash. It helped that that was when Bittle broke character and laughed, a warm sound that never failed to send sparks of warmth along Kent’s skin. 

“Actually,” he said, laughter still lacing his words, “it was a frat Haus.” 

Kent blinked at him. 

“I will never understand you crazy kids,” he said, deciding that his curiosity about whatever the fuck that meant didn’t outweigh his desire to move them beyond the slow sweet grind of hips against each other. Luckily Bittle seemed to be on the same page, licking his lips as he looked up at Kent. 

“Lube and condoms are in the drawer,” he said, and Kent fumbled to try and tug open the top drawer of the bedside table without moving off of Bittle. When he finally managed to get it open, he couldn’t help but stop and stare for a moment at the small but… sizable collection of sex toys Bittle had. He felt himself flush at the thought of Bittle, alone in his apartment, fucking himself on that large dildo, panting and crying out with pleasure as he slid that vibrator inside of himself. Apparently he had paused long enough for Bittle to notice, because the other man propped himself up on his elbows to see what had caught Kent’s attention. Looking into his drawer, he laughed. 

“Another time hon,” he said, and Kent watched as, despite his flippant tone, a brush crawled its way across his cheeks and chest. 

“Yeah,” Kent said, voice rough and thick with arousal. “Definitely.” Bittle looked surprised for a moment, before grinning at the other man, wiggling his hips to bring Kent’s attention back to what they were about to do. Kent laughed and rolled his eyes, but grabbed a condom and the (half empty, fuck, _fuck_ ) bottle of lube, closing the drawer and returning his attention to the man spread out beneath him. He squeezed more lube than he probably needed onto his fingers, reaching between Bittle’s legs. Bittle had done this before he’d come up to Kent’s room last time, Kent abruptly remembered. 

“My turn,” he whispered, and Bittle’s frown barely had time to form before his mouth was opening in a little ‘o’ of surprise as Kent slowly pressed a finger past Bittle’s tight ring of muscle. The other man reached his arms down, hooking them around his thighs and proving just how flexible he was by pulling them upwards, giving Kent a clear view of his finger slowly disappearing inside of Bittle. 

“Fuck, Bittle,” he said, and the other man’s laugh turned into a moan as Kent pushed his finger inside completely. He began moving his finger in and out of the other man, slow at first, then faster, and it wasn’t long before Bittle was panting, head thrown back, and demanding another. Kent was more than happy to indulge him, sliding a second finger inside the hot clench of Bittle’s ass. By the time he’d added a third Bittle was demanding that he hurry up and fuck him already. Kent huffed a laugh, nipping at the inside of Bittle’s thigh. 

“One day I’m gonna make you come just like this, on my fingers,” Kent said, grinning up at the other man who raised a single unimpressed eyebrow at him. “You’ll come and I’ll keep fingering you until you’re so overstimulated you’re begging me to stop and then I’m going to make you come again.”

“In your - ah! - in your dreams will I beg for you, Kenneth,” Bittle said, and Kent laughed. 

“That’s not even my name,” he said, finally pulling out his fingers, wiping them on the sheets and ignoring the face Bittle made as he slid on a condom on his own achingly hard erection. He leaned back over Bittle, but was stopped by the other man pressing a hand to his chest. 

“Wait,” Bittle said, and rolled over, getting up on his hands and knees. Kent groaned at the sight, and Bittle looked over his shoulder at him. “Okay,” he said with a chirppy grin, “that’s enough waiting.” Kent rolled his eyes at him but still took ahold of his dick, lining up with Bittle’s waiting hole, shiny with lube and pink from being stretched open. With one hand gripping Bittle’s hip, Kent slowly pressed forward, groaning at the feeling of Bittle opening up for him. It was a long, slow, sweet slide down before he finally bottomed out, Bittle gasping and shivering beneath him. He paused for a moment, letting both of them catch their breaths before Bittle made an impatient noise, jerking his hips slightly and making Kent’s breath hitch at the unexpected sensation. 

“Move,” he ordered, and Kent was helpless to do anything but obey, his hips snapping back and forward in a moment that had both him and Bittle grinning and then he was off. Both of his hands now on Bittle’s hips to control their movements, Kent fucked his cock in and out of Bittle’s ass, the wet sounds of lube and both men’s broken off moans overwhelming anything else. Bittle was so tight around him, so hot, and he took Kent’s dick so beautifully, head now down on the mattress, shoving his ass further in the air towards Kent as his hands scrambled at the sheets. Kent could only see the side of his face, eyes screwed shut with pleasure and mouth open as helpless little grunts were punched out of him by every furious thrust of Kent’s dick inside of him. He looked beautiful, sweat making his hair stick to his face, flushed red, and Kent could look at him like this forever, could stay inside him forever. 

“Fuck, fuck Bittle,” he said, “you’re so… so…”

“Yes,” Bittle moaned, “yes, Kent, Kenny, please, fuck me fuck me fuck me.” Kent’s hips snapped back and forth and he had never been more thankful to be an athlete, to be able to ignore the burn in his legs and abs, to be able to keep up his speed as he shoved his cock deep inside Bittle.

“Harder oh god, please Kenny, please, make me come on your cock baby.” 

“Oh god,” Kent said, and pulled out. Bittle barely had time to make a dissatisfied noise before Kent was flipping him over, sliding back into him as he leaned down to kiss him. Bittle moaned as his mouth met Kent’s, teeth dragging over Kent’s lips as he shoved back down onto Kent’s dick. Kent released his hips, bracing one arm on the bed next to Bittle’s hand while the other snaked around his back to grab his shoulder, stopping Bittle from sliding up the bed as Kent fucked into him over and over again. His knee shifted and suddenly Bittle was throwing back his head, mouth open as he moaned. 

“Yes, yes, right there, sweetheart, _please_.” And Kent couldn’t do anything but obey, fucking at that same angle and watching, mesmerised, as Bittle’s eyes flew open in shocked pleasure, gasping desperately for air as his fingers scrabbled for a grip on Kent’s sweaty shoulders. 

“Come for me, Bittle, Eric, come-”

“Oh god,” Bittle said, and came, muscles clenching down on Kent, whose own face screwed up in the pleasure of the moment, thrusts becoming rough and uneven as he chased his own pleasure. He pressed his forward to the mattress next to Bittle’s head, body bowed over Bittle’s slightly smaller frame as his hips snapped forward again and again. He was so goddamn close he could cry with it, and then Bittle bit his shoulder suddenly, without warning, and that was all Kent needed and he was coming inside of Bittle. 

Kent stayed, braced over Bittle for a long, shivery moment before he pulled out, tying and discarding the condom before wrapping himself around Bittle. Bittle hummed in satisfaction as he twisted himself so his back was pressed up against Kent’s chest, both of them sweaty, Bittle sticky with his own come. Neither of them could be bothered to clean up however, both of them content to lie there and come down together. As his heart rate finally began to slow, Kent reached down, rubbing a finger around the rim of Bittle’s asshole and savouring the way the other man gasped and arched as if not sure if he wanted to chase the sensation or run from it. Kent nipped lightly at Bittle’s shoulder, nothing compared to the teeth mark Bittle had left on his shoulder that he could _feel_ , a throbbing reminder of what they had just done. Kent slid a single finger inside of Bittle, lazily thrusting it in and out as Bittle squirmed against him. 

“Okay, okay,” Bittle finally gasped out, and Kent hummed in satisfaction as he pulled his finger out, moving his hand to stroke at Bittle’s hip instead. That was how they fell asleep eventually, wrapped up in each other, bodies still shivery with pleasure.

_/ \\_ 

Kent indulged himself with a moment of dread and panic when he woke up the next morning to spikes of Bittle’s blond hair stabbing into his face. He refused to let it rule him however, and was still there when Bittle rolled over to sleepily smile at him and ask ‘pancakes?’ At Kent’s enthusiastic head nod, Bittle laughed, before looking down at himself with a grimace. 

“Shower first, I think,” he said, sliding out of the sheets and affording Kent an amazing view of his pert ass in the early morning light as he stepped over their abandoned clothing from the night before. He paused at the bathroom door, tossing a look over his shoulder at Kent. “Strip the bed?” He asked, and Kent had to bite down on the urge to ask if he could join Bittle in the shower instead. _We’re friends_ , he reminded himself fiercely. _This was a one-time thing, he’s not your boyfriend, don’t be weird._ So, instead, he stripped the bed, and when Bittle returned, flushed pink and haloed in steam, Kent averted his eyes and traded off with him.

The water in the shower stung at the bite on his shoulder but served its purpose in waking him up, making him feel more centred and able to cope with his feelings, Bittle-related and otherwise. By the time he left the shower he was feeling far more grounded, and after pulling on the sweatpants Bittle had left on the bed, followed the scent of bacon frying to the kitchen. Bittle smiled at him as he entered the room, gesturing to the spatula to where a giant spread of food was laid out on the island. 

“Jesus,” Kent said, taking in the fruit salad, bacon, toast, eggs, biscuits, and pancakes waiting for him. “How the fuck did you do this so fast?” Bittle ignored the question as he flipped another blueberry pancake on the griddle. 

“Help yourself,” he said, pointing to the glass carafe on the table. “Coffee,” he said, then pointed to the fridge. “Juice and protein shakes are in there.” Kent nodded and walked over to the fridge, suddenly and dizzyingly reminded of the benefits of da- _fucking_ another athlete who understood just how much food, how much protein, Kent needed to eat . Breakfast was awkward for a bit, both of them dancing around each other, words left unsaid filling the air between them, but it didn’t last, and they soon fell back into the easy conversation that had characterized their relationship over the past several weeks. When Kent left he was full, buzzing with the satisfaction of a night filled with great sex, and fully settled in the knowledge that having had sex with Bittle again wouldn’t ruin their friendship, even if it ~~couldn’t~~ _shouldn’t_ happen again.

_/ \\_

After the third time he ended up at Bittle’s instead of a stranger’s after a night out, Kent was willing to call it a habit. After the fourth time they’d ended up at Kent’s (and Bittle had declared himself to be best friends with Kent’s cat), he was willing to admit it was maybe a bit more than drunken horniness leading them to pick the easiest option. Fuck buddies, he’d decided when he realized he’d begun to call Eric by his name, trailing his fingers up Eric’s arm where he was draped across him, fast asleep. That was what they were to each other. Friends with benefits, and so what if they ended up hooking up with each other almost every night of the week? It was natural – no one else on the planet had their stupid work schedule, not to mention how often they weren’t even in Vegas. 

Still, it wasn’t until Kent returned to his apartment one afternoon, three months after the second time they’d fucked, to find Eric already there, baking, that Kent realized it might be something more than either of those things. _Shit,_ he thought as he watched Eric sway around the kitchen, singing softly along to Daddy Lessons, not yet aware that Kent had returned. He was still standing there, staring at him like a weirdo when Eric finally caught sight of him, jumping slightly. 

“Oh hey hon,” Eric said, reaching over to turn down the volume on the ipod dock, “I didn’t hear you get in.” When Kent still didn’t say anything, Eric frowned slightly, but continued speaking, just as cheerful as before. “I was just making some pie to take to De Vries’ tonight. I know he said to not bring anything, but that boy can’t have seriously thought he could tell me he’d be doing a BBQ for the team and not have me bring _something_ , I mean, he knows-” Eric paused as Kent pressed a kiss to the side of his head. He didn’t remember making the decision to cross the expanse of the kitchen but there he was, with Eric smiling up at him, looking equal parts confused and pleased. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” Kent asked, feeling slightly dazed. “Just… gonna go shower.” 

“Alright,” Eric replied, still sounding slightly bemused but not alarmed as he turned back to the pie crust rolled out on the countertop, and Kent left the room before he could do something else horrible like hug Eric or tell him he loved him. Not that he did he love Eric, it just was a natural escalation from bizarre, horrible stuff like forehead kisses. He definitely didn’t love Eric. _Did he?_ No, he thought firmly to himself. 

Definitely not.

He showered, then helped Eric finish getting ready, and they headed over together. Kent managed to keep his shit at least vaguely together as Eric hugged De Vries’ girlfriend and handed their goalie the pie he’d made. De Vries eyes were welling up with tears and he was busy profusely thanking a blushing Eric when Kent spotted Swoops. 

“I’m going to talk to Swoops,” he said, leaning down slightly so Eric could hear him, gently brushing his hand over the other man’s elbow. _What the fuck am I doing,_ Kent thought as Eric smiled up at him. _You’re not his boyfriend,_ he reminded himself as he headed off to corner his best friend. Swoops greeted him with a raised beer as he approached. 

“Hey man,” he said, handing Kent his own bottle. “What’s up?”

“I think I might be dating Bittle,” Kent blurted out. Swoops blinked at him. 

Kent’s attempt to shove his face into his hands was being slightly hampered by the beer held in one of said hands when Swoops replied. 

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I’m not really sure what to say here man.” 

“Can you just pretend I didn’t say anything?” Kent asked, voice muffled into his palms. 

“Nah, watching you freak out is much more fun.” Kent peeked between his fingers to see Swoops grinning at him. “C’mon man, we can go sit on the back porch and you can tell me all about it.” Neither man said anything else as they wound through the house, the journey taking longer than it should have as they were occasionally stopped by their friends. 

“Alright,” Swoops began when they were finally outside and away from the noise (and nosy teammates). “What’s up man? You’re dating Bittle?” 

“I _think_ I might be,” Kent confessed, and Swoops raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You don’t know?” He asks, and Kent groans as he takes a swig of his beer. 

“No. Like, it started out just as sex, right?” Swoops made a face but nodded for Kent to continue, and Kent was briefly grateful for every time that his loud mouth had felt the need to tell Swoops every little detail of his sex life that ensured that his friend didn’t ask any questions now. “But now we stay over at each other’s places all the time, and we eat together, and he gets along with Kit-”

“Jesus, the demon likes him.” Kent narrowed his eyes at his friend. 

“She is an angel and you know it,” he said before continuing. “He even met my sister when she visited, and I haven’t fucked anyone else in five months.” 

“Fuck,” Swoops said, more aware than he’d like to be of just how big of a deal that was for Kent. “Yeah man, I think you might be dating him.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Kent said, and Swoops raised an eyebrow at him. 

“And this is a problem because…?” He asks, and Kent takes another long drink of his beer, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Fuck, Jeff, literally just pick a reason! Because I’m way older than him? Because I’m pretty sure he’s still in love with his ex? And!” he continued, “and because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t feel the same way, because let’s be real man, I’m a fucking messy asshole who goes out too much and is basically just broken.”

“Why do you think that he doesn’t feel the same way?” Swoops asks, brow furrowing in concern. “And shut the fuck up Kenny, we’ve been over this. You’re not fucking broken. Sure, you could use a good round of therapy if you ever pulled your head out of your ass for long enough to give it a try, but hey! Who couldn’t use some therapy.” Swoops paused for a second, before his frown deepened. “Wait, did he say something? Did he _say_ that you were broken? Because man I don’t care if he’s the love of your fucking life or a demonic scoring machine on skates, I will end him.” 

“No he didn’t say that,” Kent admitted, and Swoops huffed.

“Okay, so you’re just projecting your own insecurities again, cool, cool, not like that didn’t work out so great for you last time or anything.”

“Fuck off,” Kent said, a bit stung as he moved to stand. He was stopped by Jeff’s hand on his elbow, pulling him back into his seat. 

“Relax man. I’m just saying, don’t go borrowing trouble when there’s none to find.”

Kent didn’t say anything, but apparently Swoops could read the ‘so what the fuck am I supposed to do’ loud and clear on his face anyways, because he sighed and shook his head. 

“Okay so maybe before you come over here freaking out and freaking me out, you could just try talking to the guy,” he said, and it was Kent’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Obviously I should talk to him, but-”

“Nope!” Swoops interrupted.

“He’s just-”

“Nah,” Swoops interrupted again. “No excuses man. Just go fucking tell him what you feel. _Communicate_.”

“ _Communicate_ ,” Kent repeated back, voice mocking. “Easy for you to say. You’ve been married to Fuyumi for-fucking-ever.” 

“Five years,” Swoops said, voice infuriatingly smug, “is not forever. Also, I believe that just makes me the resident expert on what to do to-” 

“You’re the resident expert on what?” Bittle interrupted as he stepped onto the porch. Kent turned red so fast he felt dizzy with it. He could see Jeff smirking at him out of the corner of his eye, but he resolutely ignored him. 

“The resident expert on nothing,” Kent said, standing. “He’s an idiot. C’mon, let’s go inside.” Kent said, herding Eric towards the doors and ignoring the fact that Swoops was now openly laughing at him. 

_What the hell does he know anyways_ , Kent thought to himself as he trailed Eric down the hallway. _I’ve got this under control_.

_/ \\_

Kent had always been good at ignoring his feelings, it was what had allowed him to fool himself into thinking that he felt just as little for Jack as Jack had apparently felt for him. It was what got him through that first year in the NHL, when he felt like he couldn’t move for the pain, bleeding out onto the ice, all raw nerve endings and silent, screaming rages. It was what had led him to go and see Jack when he was at university to talk to him about joining the Aces, as if any amount of compatibility on ice made up for the way Jack managed to claw open every half-healed wound Kent had with only a couple of words. It was what allowed him to look at the way he partied and say it wasn’t a problem, to pretend like he wasn’t just slowly killing himself. 

It was the thing that allowed him to lie and lie and lie again, standing on rooftops and lying on the bottom of pools and staring at his razor and telling everyone he was fine. 

But there was a limit to denial and Kent had hit that limit in his own kitchen, watching a blond baker sway along to Beyoncé. Talking to Swoops had been the opposite of helpful and now Kent felt raw with his own feelings every time he looked at Eric. It felt like his heart was cracking open when the other man smiled at him and Kent could cry with how good it felt and how afraid it made him feel. 

He couldn’t help but remember that last time he’d felt like this he’d lost everything. 

So, despite Swoops advice, and the pointed glances he kept throwing him after practice and whenever he saw Kent and Eric together, Kent didn’t talk to Eric. He didn’t ask the other man if he felt the same way, because he wasn’t sure he could deal with it if he said no, didn’t think he could take that kind of pain. He was a coward and afraid, but he was safe so long as he didn’t ask, and so he didn’t, and Eric continued to kiss him softly on the mouth in the morning, to make them pancakes on cheat day, and to chirp him about his weight loss as the season dragged on towards the playoffs. The weeks passed and Kent was happier than he’d been in years and then suddenly they were headed to Providence to play the Falconers. 

To Jack. 

_/ \\_

It wasn’t like they hadn’t played the Falconers again since that first, terrible time, but something felt different this time. Maybe it was just that Kent was too newly aware of his developing feelings for Eric, too raw with it, that seeing Jack on top of it just felt like the universe digging the knife in. Maybe it was just that now that Kent was aware that there was something he could lose, he was afraid of losing it. Whatever it was, their plane touched down in Providence and Kent felt like he could vomit for the twisted mass of anxiety, fear, and anticipation that was swirling in his stomach. 

He was quiet all through their arrival at the hotel, and then the rink, and he had caught both Eric and Jeff shooting anxious looks at him by the time they were lacing up. Ignoring them was easy in the crowded locker room full of other rowdy athletes, or it should have been if you didn’t take into account the sheer stubbornness of Eric Bittle, who shoved Kent into a storage closet while the coaches were busy conferring. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, face grey and uncertain in the dim light of the small space. Kent shook his head. 

“Nothing,” he replied, and tried to get past Eric. He was stopped with a hand to his chest, and had to ensure several long minutes of Eric searching his face. 

“Okay,” he finally said, before leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to Kent’s lips. “Good luck out there.” Kent grinned, feeling settled and calm for a moment when he answered. 

“Don’t need luck.” He pushed back out into the main room with the sound of Eric’s laughter trailing after him, ignoring the looks both Swoops and De Vries shoot him, Jeff’s annoyingly knowing, De Vries’ confused and concerned. 

By the time the buzzer sounded marking the end of the second period neither time had managed to score a goal. You could feel the tension in the room, players on both side of the ice thrumming with frustration. There were a couple of close calls in the second – Amstutz almost had Snow on a quick shot to the upper left corner of the net, but Snow just managed to tap it out with his glove. Jack had two runs on De Vries on his own, one a wild but effective slapshot well out from the crease that De Vries had still managed to block, and one a beauty of a fucking assist off Mashkov that still didn’t go in because De Vries was a literal angel sent from heaven, and if he didn’t have a girlfriend Kent would blow him for it. He was pretty sure Eric wouldn’t mind, not with the heart eyes he (and everyone else on the team) was shooting their boy by the end of that period. 

It was in the third period though, as those final twenty minutes ticked further and further down, that everyone’s frustrations began to boil over. Jack had a breakaway with fifteen minutes left ( _because_ , Kent thought rather uncharitably as he chased after him, _the Falconers are a garbage team that Jack is carrying because he’s an idiot who didn’t want to sign with an actual established team_ ) that didn’t end up going anywhere because Eric managed to snag the puck right out from under him. 

Then St. Martin hit him into the boards and they were off. 

It wasn’t that the Aces were known for not playing clean hockey, but it was pretty common knowledge in the league and amongst fans that if the Aces were backed into a corner they’d come out fighting. It was what had happened the first time they’d played the Falconers that season, and it was looking like their more bloodthirsty fans would be getting their wishes when Mashkov slammed into Tremblay and both men threw down their gloves. After that, neither team could manage to keep a full line on the ice for more than a couple of minutes at a time, players switching in and out of the penalty box as fast as they traded off the bench. At one point, squared up on centre ice with Jack, Kent couldn’t help but grin as he thought about how much the fans would lose their shit if they understood the true extent of the history that existed between three of the men on the ice that night. It was made all that funnier by the flash of confusion that crossed Zimms’ face when he looked up to catch Kent smiling, which just made Kent grin harder.

With a few minutes left, Kent, Castillo, and Eric made a desperate attempt to race up the ice, but between Zimmerman, Robinson, St. Martin, and the Falconer’s goalie, they couldn’t manage to make puck meet net, and the buzzer sounded with the score still tied 0-0. 

_Fuck_. 

Neither team was able to change the score in the overtime, and it was easy to see the anger and disappointment in the players on both teams as they squared off for a shootout. No one liked winning in a shootout, no one liked going to a shootout, but it happened and it was with grim determination that the teams shuffled around, the players taking the shots receiving back-pats and muttered words of encouragement from their teammates. 

The Falconers got first shot, with De Vries blocking Zimms’ shot, then Snow blocked Eric’s shot in turn. Neither St. Martin or Amstutz managed to get the puck past their respective goalie, and Kent could feel the tension of the moment in his spine. Robinson took his turn shooting at, and being blocked by, De Vries. Kent could see Castillo swallow as he stepped up to take his shot. With a crack, stick hit puck hit net and suddenly, finally, it was over, the boos of the Providence home crowd not able to drown out the shouts of excitement as the Aces piled onto the ice for their celly. 

_/ \\_ 

Eric had been at Kent’s side for the entirety of the press, jostling each other and joking around as they answered the same tired questions about the game, their season, and what it was like for both of them to play against Jack Zimmermann. 

“It’s not hard at all,” Eric said, face serious and earnest as he looked at the reporter, “obviously he’s a friend but lots of players in the leagues are friends with people that they play against. We’re both just out there to play the best hockey we can and hopefully score some points for our team while we’re at it.” Kent nodded. 

“What Bittle said,” he said, and a couple of journalists laughed. 

After he finished showering, however, Kent realized that he didn’t know where Eric had disappeared to after they left the press room. He sent him a quick text, then began walking back towards the press room, wondering if he’d been caught up by some pushy reporter. He was walking quickly, looking down at his phone, when he caught a snippet of Eric’s voice. Raising his head, Kent followed the faint sounds of that familiar voice until the found himself standing outside of what looked like an equipment room. 

Now that he was closer, he could identify the other voice, the voice of the person Eric was talking to, and his stomach clenched as he realized it was Zimms. _I should leave,_ he thought to himself. _I should walk away right now and not listen because Eric isn’t my boyfriend and even if he is I should trust him. I do trust him._ But all the common sense in the world wasn’t enough to override two fundamental aspects of who Kent Parson was: he was afraid of being hurt, and he would much, much rather burn something down himself than wait to find out what random lightning strike would set his whole world ablaze. 

So he stepped closer to the doorway, and he listened. 

“...good game.”

“Oh my god Jack, please don’t tell me we’re just going to talk about the game.” 

“No, sorry, just…” Jack’s voice trailed off, his familiar Quebecois accent dragging up the same feelings it always did; love, anger, fear, resentment. Paired with Eric’s rounded Southern one, and Kent was left with a storm of emotions in his chest that he couldn’t easily untangle, and wasn’t sure he wanted to anyways. 

“Yeah,” Eric said, and then there was a long pause. “I heard you have a girlfriend now, I hope that’s… I mean, that’s nice.” If you weren’t listening carefully, or maybe if you just didn’t know Eric Bittle as well as Kent did, you might not have even caught the thread of hurt underlying his words.

“Oh,” Jack said, sounding surprised. “Yeah, that’s… I mean, it was only a couple of dates, I don’t think it’s going… to go anywhere.” 

“Oh,” Eric said, and Kent wanted to die at the note of hope in his voice.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “How about you, are you…?” 

“No,” Eric said quickly, too quickly.

“Oh, um, that’s good,” Jack said. “Do you think… you and I, I mean, after we left things, do you think we could…”

“Yeah,” Eric interrupted, voice eager, and it felt like being punched in the gut as Kent abruptly turned and walked away. 

He supposed that was answer enough for all of his questions about who he and Eric were to each other. 

_/ \\_

_Leave a message after the beep_

Hey Jeff. It’s me. Um. Kent. I think… I think that what we talked about at the party doesn’t matter anyways. So. Yeah. Guess we don’t have to worry about that anymore. Fuck. Uh. Call me?

_You know what to do_

Hey man, where the fuck did you disappear off to? And what the hell are you talking about, what we talked about at the party? Is this about Bittle? Text me.

_Leave a message after the beep_

Shit it’s late. Sorry Jeff. I shouldn’t be doing this. Don’t worry about me though. Bittle’s getting back together with his ex but that’s fine, I’m fine. Hah, guess it just makes everything easier in the end eh? I was starting to think… but whatever, it doesn’t matter now anyways. Um, say hi to Fuyumi and the kids from me.

_You know what to do_

Jesus Parson are you trying to give me a heart attack? I’m too old for your shit. Call me.

_Leave a message after the beep_

You’re not… that old… Jeff… fucking… fucking relax. Fuck I’m drunk. Look, I meant what I said to you this afternoon, okay? It was… it might have been good, I know that I was… I was starting to think that could really be true, y’know? That like, he and I could be together and we could make it work and I wouldn’t fuck it up like I fuck up everything. But… that’s not gonna happen and it’s fine, because I prolly would have fucked it up. So it’s chill man. It’s allllll fucking good.”

_You know what to do_

If you don’t call me in the next ten minutes Kent I’m sending the cops to your place. Don’t make me do that again man. Please.

_Leave a message after the beep_

Hey dude, Kaori left her stuffed elephant in my car. Let me know if you need me to come by with it tonight or if I can just bring it with me to practice tomorrow. And, um, thanks for letting me take the kids today. I had a great time, they’re great kids. Sorry about all the ice cream.

_You know what to do_

Hey Uncle Kent it’s Yumi. Daddy says you’ve been sad so me and Kaori wrote you a song. Ma said I should say Asa helped too but you know she’s just a baby so I don’t know wh-

Yumi what are you doing-

Ma it’s for Uncle Kent! We’re gonna-

Wha-

_Leave a message after the beep_

Dude. Tell Yumi to call me back. I need to hear this song. 

_/ \\_

Kent managed to successfully avoid Eric without Eric noticing up until five days later, when Eric showed up at Kent’s apartment with takeout and a bottle of wine, popping up on tiptoes to kiss Kent on the mouth as soon as he saw him. 

“Great British Bake Off marathon?” Eric asked as Kent opened the door, and Kent wondered if he’d done something terrible in a past life because surely even all of the harm he’d done in this one didn’t merit this kind of punishment. Eric squeezed past Kent, shooting him an annoyed look when Kent didn’t help by moving out of the way, and had begun unpacking boxes of Indian takeaway onto Kent’s coffee table before he had a chance to say anything at all. 

“Look, Eric,” Kent finally said, leaning on the wall at the entryway to the living room. Eric paused in unpacking to look up at Kent, eyes wide and warm and guileless as he looked up at the other man and _fuck_ what had Kent done to deserve this. “I can’t do this?” 

“Do what?” Eric asked, confusion pinching his face before he glanced down at what he was doing. “Oh no sweetheart, are you not feeling up to company tonight? I’m so sorry, I should have asked first, we don’t have to-”

“No,” Kent forced himself to interrupt. “I can’t do _this_.” Despite the emphasis, Eric didn’t look any less confused, and Kent sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face and leaving it there when he realized that it was going to be a lot easier for him to say what he had to say if he didn’t have to look at Eric’s face while he did it. 

“I can’t hurt Jack again,” and it turned out he did have to look at Eric after all because the silences would kill him anyways. Eric still looked lost as Kent gestured between the two of them. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, with him out east and you out here, if you think he’ll never know, but I can’t hurt him again like that. And if he knows, if he’s given you… given you permission to have a… a _fuck buddy_ then… I can’t hurt myself like that.” He said, feeling far more steady and sure in that last assertion than he’d ever thought possible. 

Eric, damn him, still looked confused. 

“I don’t understand, sweetheart, what are you-”

“ _I can’t fuck you_ ,” Kent snapped, and oh that Eric understood, from the shocked and hurt look on his face to the way he leaned backwards from Kent, though Kent was across the room from him. “I can’t fuck you while you’re back with Jack, and I can’t pretend that I don’t love you while I do it.” 

Eric’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, and Kent swiped at his cheeks, traitorously wet, with the back of a hand. 

“I need you to leave please,” he finally said, voice soft, and Eric made a small, hurt noise. 

“I’m not back with Jack,” he said, and Kent laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. 

“I heard you, at the rink?” He said. Eric tilted his head, then began to look angry. 

“Whatever parts you overheard of a private conversation,” he began, “obviously wasn’t the whole thing. I’m not getting back together with Jack. _I’m not,_ ” he repeated, insistent as he saw the doubt still so clearly written across Kent’s face. “We were talking because he was my friend for a long time before he was my boyfriend and neither of us wanted to lose that friendship when we broke up, even though both of us needed some time apart to manage that.” 

“He asked if you were seeing anyone and you said no…” Kent said hesitantly, well aware that he was revealing all of his feelings, peeling back his shiny outside to show Eric the charred, fire warped inside but unable to stop himself, too desperate to chase the shred of hope Eric was throwing to him. 

“He asked if I’d broken up with you like he did the girl he’d been seeing,” Eric snapped, exasperation for Kent and his assumptions clear in his voice. “I told him no.” 

“You told Jack we were dating?”

“Yes, about a month ago, why…” Eric trailed off, eyes widening in horror. “You don’t think we’re dating. You don’t want to be dating, oh my God, I am so sorry, shit,” he began trying to pack everything up while Kent just watched in stunned silence. “And here I am just forcing myself into your space,” Eric was still rambling when Kent interrupted him. 

“I told you I love you,” he said, and Eric froze.

“What?” He asked. 

“I told you I love you,” Kent repeated. “I told you I wouldn’t fuck you if you were dating Jack and I told you I love you.” Eric was now staring at Kent, hands pressed over his mouth. 

“You love me?” He whispered, and Kent nodded miserably, no longer able to deny it to either Eric or yourself. 

“I don’t... “ Eric said, sounding hesitant, and Kent braced himself for rejection. “I don’t know that I can say that right now,” he said, and Kent nodded tightly. “But I think I’d like to? One day?” 

“What?” Kent asked, and it was his turn to stand in silent confusion while the other man shifted from foot to foot. 

“Um, so I’m not going to lie, I kind of thought we’ve been dating for a while now? Like, months?” 

“What?” Kent repeated. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so wrong footed in his life. 

“Around the time when we started sleeping with each other exclusively? And then we started doing all this couply stuff, like having Chopped marathons and going to the aquarium and I was like well, that’s it, isn’t it? That’s what dating is, so we must be dating.” Eric sat, moved a container on the table, then stood back up, nervousness written into every movement. “Do you want to be dating?” He asked. 

“You?” Kent asked, and Eric’s face did something strange between exasperation and fear. “Sorry, just, this is a… lot. I spent most of the last week resigning myself to the fact that I would never get the chance to date you.” Eric nodded slowly, hands clasped together in front of him, and Kent could almost see him physically restraining himself from offering to make Kent a pie to make him feel better. 

“I get that. And now?” 

“Um. Now I would like to date you? Officially. If you’re okay with it, that is.” Eric drew in a deep breath and squared up his shoulders as he crossed the room until he was standing right in front of Kent. 

“Kenneth Versace Parson–”

“–still not my name.”

“I would be both pleased and honoured to date you.” 

“That was so formal,” Kent said with a smile that felt like it was breaking him even as Eric answered him with a grin of his own. “Why are you like this? Why was that so formal? Oh my god–” he said, laughing as Eric interrupted him by tackling him to the floor. 

“You said you wanted it to be official!” Eric said, laughing.

“Who even are you?” Kent moaned, and Eric grinned as he leaned down and kissed him. 

“Your boyfriend,” he said, and yeah, Kent guessed he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Me, aggressively shoving every insecurity I have into my characterization of Kent Parson: this is fine!!!!
> 
> Warnings for: references to suicidal thoughts and past suicidal behaviours. Nothing explicit and it is never labelled as such by any of the characters, but it is clearly referenced. Mild drug use.
> 
> ETA: [now with an edit by bakedbittle on tumblr!](http://bakedbittle.tumblr.com/post/169879105747/player-15-by-eden22-stevespumpkinbooty-you)


End file.
